Hot Pink

Through the lucid qualities of this hot pink mass, I am angry. I am disappointed. I am all but rational because it seemed to have left me. My self-esteem took a hit. Confidence counts are so low I need a regular injection of it like a diabetic patient with his insulin.

It is not a single event that culminated to this suppressed fury of today. Explosion of mental orgies, enacting the same hot pink script in my head over and over again for reasons I don’t know. I am envious. I need filters attached to my ears so I don’t listen to things I don’t need to know, don’t need to hear.

I am so tired.

Yet again I look at these photos of myself. I’ve an awkward crooked smile, exposing straight yellowing teeth. From young I’ve been conditioned to smile for photos, but they’re hardly ever natural that they seem to defeat all purposes and intent of snapping that sole pic that signifies the most genuine of relaxed happiness.

Have I not been questioning myself the same questions over and over again that they’re starting to grow stale now? I don’t know what I’m looking for anymore – to play along with the objectified, or to learn from scratch these hidden social rules I’m starting to lose track of.